


It's Alright, We're Okay

by rhythmicroman



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: (it's mentioned), Accents, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Episode: s02e03 The Last Laugh, F/F, F/M, Future Fic, Harley is a good friend, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Relationships, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Polyamory, Slow To Update, Stabbing, all OCs are mentioned v briefly, harley is a lesbian, i cant write harley's accent so take this mess instead, if their combined accents come off as chavvy slang then yell at me bc thats how i talk, jerome and harley are Good Platonic Pals, jerome is bi, these things r Implied but not explicitly stated
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-03
Updated: 2017-12-03
Packaged: 2019-02-10 07:45:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12907374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhythmicroman/pseuds/rhythmicroman
Summary: Harley, ever the psychiatrist, decides to help her boss stop moping over something that was - when was it - ten years ago.When she signed up for this, she sure didn't sign up for becoming the emotional sponge to one Jerome "I bottle up all my emotions and express them via murder and brief reminiscing, but only when prompted" Valeska.What a day to be alive.





	It's Alright, We're Okay

**Author's Note:**

> this'll probably continue onwards but only in brief lil drabbles so don't expect much
> 
> this is a fuckton of me projecting onto jerome, as usual
> 
> there'll be more gay shit in the future, dw. im a pan boy did u honestly expect thisd be str8 forever

“Jay? Was you ever in love? Like, kiddo love, when yer both too young to get married an’ all that borin’ shit?”

Jerome couldn’t help but stiffen a little, and he felt Harley’s hands gently but sturdily grab him, as if she thought he might fall. He ran his hand down his arm from his elbow, down to his wrist, and nodded quietly.

“Huh. Was ‘e nice?”

He snorted at that. “A girl this time, Harls. Pretty one, too.”

Harley nodded, bit her lip, and went back to prodding at the scar on the side of his neck. His hum of thought slowly but surely lowered to a strained whimper, and she paused suddenly, fingers still on the edge of his jaw’s joint.

“Y’okay? Did I press too hard?”

“No.” a moment of thought. “And no. It wasn’ you, don’t worry.”

“Yanno ‘m still gonna, Jer, so why dontcha tell me?”, Harley blinked at him, climbing over the back of the seat beside him, landing with a low thump. “Yanno, I got a psych degree, I was a doc. I betcha, I can make it hurt less, jus’ spill.”

He hummed, ran his fingers down his arm again – and then up to his neck, to the ugly, jagged scar on it’s side. “Stabbed. Bled t’ death on a fuckin’ stage, Harls.” Pressed harder, dug his nails in. “An’ she watched. An’ she couldn’ watch anymore. So she…”

Harley was watching him as intently as she could, eyebrows furrowed in some unreadable emotion – probably looking into his soul, with those big sympathetic eyes of hers. She pulled her knees up to her chest, still watching him. His eyes were getting all glossy, like they usually did when she brought up shit like this.

“’S okay, Jay, ya don’t gotta finish that thought.” She stretched her legs out, dirty trainers hitting the concrete floor with a thump. “’M gonna go get ice-cream, so I can talk about th’ cute girl I saw today, an’ how she’s way outta my league, and we can cry together, a’ight, Jay?”

“Nobody’s outta your league, Harls.” Jerome hummed again, in thought, then nodded slowly, rubbing his eyes. “You know my flavour.”

“How’d I ever forget? ‘S all you fuckin’ talk about, boss!”

The door closed behind her with a loud bang, and then a quieter click. She’d locked him in to make sure he didn’t go on any late-night sorrow-driven murder sprees.

Whatever. He hoped the ice-cream was good.

* * *

 

“What was ‘er name?”

He looked up from his ice-cream, surprised at the random out-of-place question. At his confusion, she gulped down another spoonful and clarified.

“The gal, the one ya loved.”

“Oh.” He looked down again, blinked to make sure there were no tears. There weren’t. He was lucky this time. “I jus’ called ‘er Rifle, like ‘er gun. Yanno people with their,” gestured wildly with one hand, “cool, rare names. Too many fuckin’ vowels you gotta pronounce too many fuckin’ ways.”

“Says the guy ‘o goes by Joka. Ain’t many Jokas round ‘ere, Jer.”

He snorted. “No, guess not.”


End file.
